The Few, The Proud
by Dezzie Chan
Summary: Not everything is perfect among co-workers in the WWF.. but what does an outsider know about any of that? Or, will she even care at all with her apathetic attitude? Chapter 3 up! See Edge and Christian! Please read and review!
1. Apathy

Summary: Not everything is perfect among co-workers in the WWF.. but what does an outsider know about any of that? Or, will she even care at all with her apathetic attitude?  
Rated: R for some really bad words (in later chapters) and some innuendo.  
Disclaimer: Vince McMahon and WWFE owns AAAALMOST everything... but I have some claims! Myself and Mr. Schulze and his five or so lines are copyrighted to me, but Adia, Charlie and Ben own themselves. And also, because she asked, Adia's penname is Adia SB - go read her stuff! It's really good!  
  
  
  
The Few, The Proud  
  
by Dezzie-Chan ^.^  
  
  
Lights flashed all around me, and the feel of the canvas under my feet was so sweetly familiar. I strode to one side of the ring, and jumped up onto the lowest rope, allowing it to bounce slightly under my weight. A few people in the front row began to chant my name, and like a wildfire, it spread throughout the arena, till my name was on everyone's lips. I hopped backwards off the ropes, and ascended a turnbuckle to pose for the opposite side of the crowd, as well. I hoisted my belt up into the air, and tapped the front of it, eliciting a huge cheer from the crowd over the din of my own name. I was the winner; bruised, aching, and sore, but I had done it. I had won my belt. And the people loved it, they had wanted me to win the belt as much as I had! Every moment I was almost down in that ring, the audience had brought me back to life with their cheers and encouragements. I don't think I had ever been happier in my life. This was my dream, this was all I had ever wanted. I just wished to God that the moment I was in would never end...  
  
...and then the chants of my name turned into an annoying buzz, and I sat up in bed, still not sure if I had fallen victim to a chairshot from the disgruntled opponent or if I was a bigger idiot than I thought. Turns out, it was the latter, as I crankily shut off my alarm, and flopped back down onto the bed. I yanked my pillow out from behind my head and covered my face with it.   
  
"Five thirty in the morning..." I mumbled, sleep still evident in my voice. "What did I do to deserve this...?"  
  
I sat up, and took in the posters on my wall (my posters which are basically my wallpaper). The stars pictured in those posters probably had to wake up even earlier somedays, and most times after a night of getting brutally beaten; the WWF Superstars. That caused me to laugh, remembering my dream. What a stupid dream! I had never wanted to be a wrestler... maybe I had always wanted to work with the other wrestlers, but fighting wasn't my thing. I fought better with words.  
  
And besides; what red-blooded woman wouldn't want to work with some of those wrestlers? You have Jeff Hardy, a cutie with a multi-coloured tuft of hair and a daredevil attitude; Edge, a blond Adonis of a man whose immature sense of humor is a real charmer, if not entertaining at the least; Christian, Edge's in character brother (but no less cute) who currently has a jealous streak, but you gotta love it; Scotty 2 Hotty, a bleached blond whose head looks like a bucket of McDonald's fries with a goofy thousand-watt smile; "The Hurricane", a guy who believes he is a living, breathing superhero, complete with cape and painted-on mask; and so on, and so on. I don't think I even named half.  
  
However, for me, Amy Marie King, I was not the stars on stage, but the person who found ways to advertise them. Well... only if you count barbeque sauce as a star, but we'll get into that later. I was working part-time designing logos and catch phrases for an advertisement agency, almost right next door to the college I attend. That way, I didn't have to commute back and forth, I could just walk from class to work.   
  
Personally, I hate my job. I mean, I thought it would be fun to come up with slogans, and draw cute little logos and mascots. I didn't mind the fact I couldn't get them copyrighted as my design, since I didn't have the proper credentials. I just wanted to draw cute little pictures. They could take the credit, I just wanted to have a drawing board and pencil - is that so much to ask? The truth is, after you get to assist your superiors who steal all your ideas, they stick you at the bottom of the advertising pile to do your work individually, and then they'll steal it from you. My first few assignments had been revolving around small family-owned businesses; laundromats, greasy diners, warehouses (since when does a warehouse need a mascot, anyway?!), etc. At the time I was struggling with coming up with a mascot for "Tiki Dan's Barbeque Sauce". The week before that, I had had to make a logo for "Billy Jo Bob's B-B-Q". The month before that, I had wasted three weeks on "Mama Hickory Bar-B-Q Sauce". My boss had this thing about assigning me to food products. Can you guess his favorite? Non-mainstream, family or individually-owned, most likely non-approved barbeque sauces. How many damn barbeque sauces could there be?! And was what I was doing without proper advertising licensing even legal, anyway?  
  
I guess I didn't care. I guess I wanted ... money. And, granted, I did get paid for it.  
  
Begrudgingly, I got out of bed, and rubbed the remains of sleep from my eyes. I had another fun-filled day of Tiki Dan to attend to, and laying in bed wishing for a more glamorous job wasn't going to help. I fumbled in the still mildly dim morning for my lamp, silently cursing the unfairness of it all. Upon finding the lamp's on switch, I was half-blinded by the sudden flooding of light, and squinted away from it.   
  
"Dammit!" I cried, sitting up and adjusting myself to the brightness, still squinting.   
  
To help me wake up, I flipped on my radio. Luckily, it wasn't a commercial, like it normally was. Commercials made me think of ... work. Ugh. Instead I was greeted by Incubus, and I found enough good humor to hum along with it as I set about making my bed.   
  
It really wasn't fair. You'd think an advertiser could wake up at leisure, but no, not me. I had a deadline, and if I didn't use all the time available, I was going to get hammered for it. Maybe I was being a brat, but I really didn't care. At 20 years old, I was still allowed to be a brat. I browsed in my closet for some suitably "I don't want to be here" clothes, and grabbed a brush off my nightstand as I headed for the bathroom.  
  
As I brushed my hair in the mirror, my mind wandered back to my dream. How cool would it be to design a "Just Bring It" shirt? Or a Hardy Boyz pendant? Or a Y2J jersey? I shook my head, and lightly set the brush on the sink counter, propping my chin in one hand. I could forget about ever doing anything that cool. Besides, I was majoring in computer graphic imagery, and as soon as I got my degree, I was out of that two-bit advertising agency (where I couldn't even get credit for my own work) for good!   
  
It was in that angry mind-set, in a worn Amador Valley sweatshirt and a portfolio of scribbled would-be Tiki Dan sketches that I set off on possibly the best day of my so-called career.  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's Note: Okay, this is my first WWF fic.. and I'm not sure how great it is. I had a weird dream about it, and had to follow through... This first chapter doesn't have much to do with wrestling, but I'm really just trying to test this way of writing, as serious stuff like this isn't my most popular style... Yes, I really am the girl (Amy) written in here, although I'm not 20.. that's just for story's purposes. The next chapters start to involve the WWF characters, so please, gentle people, be patient... Please, please, PLEASE R&R and depending on that, I'll see how quickly I can get Chapter 2 up. Thanks! 


	2. Overexcitement

Summary: Not everything is perfect among co-workers in the WWF.. but what does an outsider know about any of that? Or, will she even care at all with her apathetic attitude?  
Rated: R for some really bad words (in later chapters) and some innuendo.  
Disclaimer: Vince McMahon and WWFE owns AAAALMOST everything... but I have some claims! Myself and Mr. Schulze and his five or so lines are copyrighted to me, but Adia, Charlie and Ben own themselves. And also, because she asked, Adia's penname is Adia SB - go read her stuff! It's really good!  
  
  
  
The Few, The Proud  
  
by Dezzie-Chan ^.^  
  
  
I arrived at work at about 7:10, according to my watch. My watch had a notorious reputation for being either five minutes early or five minutes late, so I could never fully trust it, but Mr. Schulze, my boss, really didn't care, I don't think. As I put my Civic into park, I took a look at the other cars to see who was here.   
  
A red SUV signified Charlie Morgan was there. The resident "quiet, shy guy" was always there early. He was around my age, but I never really bothered to talk to him. It had crossed my mind to ask exactly how early he got to work, but I never did, because maybe I was a little scared to know. It wasn't healthy to show up early to a job like this. Other than that scary attribute, he was a pretty nice guy. I mean, he didn't talk a lot, he did his work, would take his lunch break and be back at work in a prompt half hour, and if you greeted him or asked what was up, he'd reply with a barely audible "hi".  
  
There was also a black Jetta, belonging to Adia Silva. Adia was nice to talk to, and I'd like to think we had made pretty good friends. She was a year younger than me, and already doing sales pitches. She would usually come with one of our idea-makers and try to sell our would-be mad skillz, if you know what I mean. Her true dream was to be an actress, and I always hoped in the back of my mind she would get to do that. She had recited her own rendition of one scene out of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" for me, once. It was pretty good - better than my high school's rendition, anyway.  
  
The last person I actually bothered to analyze, I never checked for. I didn't even know which car was his, or if he had a car; Ben Langham. He was a bit on the easy-going, almost lazy, side, but if he really wanted to do something, he could get it done. Unfortunately, I don't think logo design was in his best interest, and he was notorious for missed deadlines. Adia and I had gone to get coffee with him a few times, though, and he was a great guy to hang out with. He was lots of laughs, really.  
  
I had no idea at the time how close we would all end up being.  
  
I walked in, and waved to Adia from where she sat at her desk. At the moment she was typing on her computer, and she mouthed a "good morning, sunshine!" to me, with a big sarcastic grin. I contemplated flipping her off, but instead I just gave her a wry smile and rolled my eyes. I attempted to wave at Charlie, but he was absorbed in his own reflection, staring back at him from his coffee cup. Ben wasn't at his desk, and probably wasn't even at work yet, seeing as he was always late. Everyone else generally pissed me off, so I didn't bother waving or being pleasant with them. I sat down at my desk, still tired, and toyed with some of the leaves on my potted plant I had next to my computer. I must have stayed in that comatose state for a good half hour, flicking the rubber-like leaf back and forth, until I heard my boss's door open. I immediately sat up, snatched up my portfolio and grabbed out the papers, acting as if I had been studying every contour of Tiki Dan's face. It was funny; whenever that door opened, the quiet murmur of the half-asleep employees was replaced with the busy hussle and bustle of a full-swing workplace.  
  
I did such a good job pretending to be interested in a little Tiki god-ish sketch, that I think I actually was able to tune out the rest of the workplace, and didn't notice Mr. Schulze looming over my desk. He wasn't a big man, but he was very tall, pushing 6'3" or so, which to a shortie like me was big. He was gaunt and haggard, and had these very small frosted-glass spectacles that made his eyes look beady. He was like the scary boss from hell, I swear to God. He never smiled, but would occasionally do this "How The Grinch Stole Christmas" grin.  
  
"Ms. King."  
  
His croak snapped me out of my careful studies, and I looked up at him meekly.  
  
"I, uh, good morning, Mr. Schulze.. I was just trying to decide if Tiki Dan here was too... um... detail-oriented..." I slowly pieced together. I had very outgoing thoughts, but my verbalizations to people were usually pretty weak-willed.  
  
"Forget that silly thing!" he snapped, snatching away my papers, and leaning further over my desk. "I have someone on line 2 who is willing to pay a lot of money for cheap work." He flashed that signature Grinchy grin. "You came first to mind. You turn out the best work for the least pay."   
  
He started to laugh, but it sounded more like a donkey choking. Which reminded me how much I wished he would choke on a donkey's ... well, there's no need to get vulgar.  
  
"You realize I'll get the credit as we are an agency--" He was always saying that. He can't give me individual credit, because we're an agency, we're a collective. My ideas are their ideas! Wonderful, eh? "--but I know how much you love your barbeque sauce ads."  
  
I could hear someone laugh, and I wanted to strangle them, but instead I just smiled as sweetly as possible. "Oh, yes, of course." Then, through clenched teeth, "It's my talent."  
  
Someone else laughed in response to that, which didn't help my mood, but I didn't dare lash out at the source of the laugh, right now. Besides, I didn't know what I'd say to them, anyway.  
  
"Well," Mr. Schulze placed the papers back on my desk lethargically. "I'll tell them they can go ahead and send down a representative to talk to you. It may involve some travelling, mind you..."  
  
I blinked, and frowned slightly. I had never had to travel for something before. "Travel, Mr. Schulze?"  
  
"The owner of the product can't be here to talk to you, directly, he has a very binding schedule. Luckily, he's very concerned with his product, and wishes to speak with you about it. You could call it his second hobby, from what he said on the phone."  
  
I cleared my throat. "If I may ask, do I have to pay my own way there? And is it very far?"  
  
Mr. Schulze rolled his eyes as if I were an idiot. "He's paying for you, and a few others from our agency. I wouldn't trust just you." Ouch. That really hurt. "And it's not too far. He's making an appearance in Anahiem this Monday, and will be in the area until early Wednesday."  
  
I didn't bother asking how anyone who would call this agency would be important enough to make appearances, or be able to pay for multiple plane trips from San Francisco to Anahiem, but instead asked a more important question.   
  
"Is this going to be a very long assignment?"  
  
Mr. Schulze took that time to tactfully drop a large portfolio down on my desk. "Go home and pack. Take a look at these, and be ready to receive a phone call to tell you where to go at the airport. Apparently they have it all set up." I smiled, almost genuinely, and nodded as Mr. Schulze walked off, most likely to go collect the "few others" he had mentioned were coming along.  
  
Goody goody. It was almost like a day off! Despite the fact I felt like I was in a very odd James Bond movie, this wasn't too bad. A trip to Anahiem, one very mysterious employer, no more Tiki Dan...  
  
I gathered up my stuff, and flashed an almost too huge smile to Adia on the way out. She furrowed her brows, and adjusting her glasses, made a motion with her hand for me to call her. I nodded enthusiastically, and put a skip in my step as I heard the jingle of the door closing behind me. Wow, was I ever overexcited about this! So, I did what all overexcited people do - I went to go get some coffee so I wouldn't lose the feeling.   
  
As I sat in the coffee shop, sipping at a mocha, I decided to look over the papers. It was, more than likely, some really rich entrepeneur in the world of barbeque sauce. It brought a smile to my face to think that. How funny would it be to see some rich snob attempting to market a condiment? And how silly to ask this agency. I knew we gave cheap service, but you'd think they could afford better! I opened the manilla envelope still silently laughing to myself about it, and began to browse the papers. The first thing in the stack was a letter, which kind of surprised me. Normally, the manufacturer, or owner, won't send you a personal letter. It even had a hand-written signature on it!  
  
Wow, Mr. Schulze wasn't lying when he said the guy was concerned with his product! I thought to myself, slightly amused.  
  
However, I was not amused by the end of the letter. I was in disbelief, and half-convinced I was the victim of a practical joke.  
  
  
September 14, 2001  
Hilton San Jose & Towers  
300 Almaden Blvd.  
San Jose, CA 95110   
Room No. 264  
  
Dear Sir or Madam,  
  
First, let me thank you for your time spent on this personal project of mine. It means so much for me to have this sauce succeed, as it does for most owners.  
  
I've been having lots of troubles getting it to catch on, despite the position I have in my business. It has a lot of free advertising, if you will. I want something very catchy for it, that will get people interested in different sorts of media will buy it. I'm sure you've already been informed that it's just a barbeque sauce, but it is so much more to me. Barbeque sauce is my second life, besides the one I have on the road and at home, that is. Plus, I could use the extra money, believe it or not. Daddy needs a new black resistol hat!  
  
All joking aside, I much appreciate Schulze Advertising Agency's efforts to give me a more-than-reasonably priced chance at getting word out that my barbeque sauce is the best! I'm sure you are up to the task. I've had a flight and hotel stay arranged for you in Anahiem, so you need not venture out of state. I can thank my lucky stars our company is currently in the beautiful Golden State, and not too far from San Francisco. I also have a meeting arranged for us, and I caution you beforehand, it may be shaky, but we'll find a way through it.  
  
I hope you find all the accomodations hospitable, and look forward to talking to you soon.  
  
  
Until Next Time,   
  
J.R.   
Jim Ross  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's Note: Okay, there it is, Chapter 2! I know, I know, I posted it before I had any reviews.. oh, wait, I did have a review! Yay! And it was a good review, double yay! So I hope at least one person is happy. I know I am, so far... it's a bit lengthy, and I know, I know, it's very corny... but it's hard to find any other way into the superstars' lives that won't be overdone. I'm trying to be original. You're still MORE than welcome to review! Next chapter, I guarantee there will be superstars involved... promise! 


	3. Starstruck

Summary: Not everything is perfect among co-workers in the WWF.. but what does an outsider know about any of that? Or, will she even care at all with her apathetic attitude?  
Rated: R for some really bad words (in later chapters) and some innuendo.  
Disclaimer: Vince McMahon and WWFE owns AAAALMOST everything...but I have some claims! Myself and Mr. Schulze and his five or so lines are copyrighted to me, but Adia, Charlie and Ben own themselves. Oh, and Mr. Antonio.. the silly businessman who has two lines! And also, because she asked, Adia's penname is Adia SB - go read her stuff! It's really good!  
  
  
  
The Few, The Proud  
  
by Dezzie-Chan ^.^  
  
  
I hopped on my bed, so excited and confused I could scream, and hugging the portfolio like it was my dear first-born child. About a thousand thoughts were whipping through my mind, none of which were "Did anyone see me shriek and haul ass out of that coffee shop like a mad woman?"  
  
Jim Ross! Jim Ross! Was it the same Jim Ross? What other Jim Ross had a whacky and sometimes frightening love for barbeque sauce? Oooh, I love barbeque sauce! Why did I ever hate barbeque sauce? It's my savior! Wow, THE Jim Ross! I mean, there's more than one Jim Ross, but this could be him! Couldn't it? What if it isn't? Even if it was, you're not going to be able to meet Chris Jericho, or the Rock, or Edge, Christian, Jeff, Scotty, Hurricane, Stone Cold (What?!), Lita, Kurt Angle... you're just going to talk about BBQ sauce. That's it.  
  
Suddenly I wasn't so happy anymore.  
  
I flopped down on my bed, and propped my head in one hand, reaching out the other to pick up my phone to call Adia. I was ready to dial her number when the phone in my hand started ringing. I tilted my head slightly, and wondered if I'd hit a button or something. Nope, apparently not. Shrugging, I clicked the 'talk' button and propped the phone in the crook of my shoulder.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hello. Is this Ms. Amy King?" I didn't recognize the voice.  
  
"Yeah... this is her."   
  
"This is Mr. Antonio... I'm calling on behalf of Jim Ross about your flight and hotel stay."  
  
There was a part inside of me dying to ask if I would meet anyone besides good ole' J.R. but I kept my lip buttoned, and decided to just be polite. It was the chance of a lifetime; I mean, J.R.'s BBQ Sauce! Whoohoo! Right?  
  
  
  
¸··º˜º··¸ ¤¥¤ ¸··ºº··¸  
  
  
I was extremely tired, and the airplane food had not helped to nourish me, as can be expected. The only small joy so far was to know I was working hand in hand with Adia on this trip, and Ben. They both watched WWF, from time to time, and although they had no clue what J.R.'s BBQ Sauce was, they at least knew who Jim Ross was. Charlie was also there, but I don't think anyone was noticing so far, and I think we all knew he had no idea what the big deal was. We were all pretty dogged when we finally got out into the lobby of the airport.  
  
"Okay, Amy..." Adia said, pausing to yawn, as we collected our luggage. "What do we do, now?"  
  
"Well..." I began, rubbing my eyes to try and revive myself. "I'd assume there's someone here to pick us up... that's what Mr. Antonio said anyway. So, we look for probably some fat cabbie with a sign brandishing horridly misspelt names." I managed a weak grin. We spent about half an hour looking for just that, a cabbie-type guy, getting more and more frustrated, until someone approached us.  
  
"Excuse me?" he asked politely. He was obviously one of those high-class limo drivers - black tie and jacket, clean white undershirt, black cap and cleanly pressed pants.   
  
"Er... can we help you?" I asked. I wondered if he had mistaken us for his passengers. Poor guy.  
  
"By any chance, are you the party here to meet Mr. Ross? Ms. King's party?"  
  
We all exchanged glances, then nodded dumbly. He held up his sign, showcasing the neatly-written (and perfectly spelled, I might add) names "Miss King, Miss Silva, Mr. Langham, Mr. Morgan". I could have died of embarassment or happiness at not having to endure that cab ride I was expecting. We all laughed nervously, and shyly followed our driver to the limo we had pegged earlier as being set up for some movie or rock star. We climbed into the back part of the limo, and were immediately hooked. This had to be the coolest limo I was ever in! Not that I had been in many... I mean, I had been in a wedding, once, and another time a friend had rented one, but other than that, I was kind of a limo virgin. As we played with the TV in the back, and made fun of other people on the road through tinted windows, we had a few new takes on this trip.  
  
"God love Jim Ross!" cried Ben, opening a cabinet to reveal the champagne stash. "I'll design barbeque sauce labels for him anytime!"  
  
"Really!" exclaimed Adia, reclining comfortably in the leather seats. "I feel like a rockstar..."  
  
"I feel like a superstar!" I smiled brightly.  
  
Charlie stayed quiet the whole time, messing with the TV remote. Surprise, surprise. I was kind of wishing he would talk, he was creeping me out.  
  
When we reached the hotel, we were in for more surprises. The hotel was actually really nice. Not palace-nice, but still impressive. There was a little red walkway and man waiting to take your baggage. There were palm trees and lots of really pretty flowers blooming out front, so it wasn't like a barren Motel 6 (far from it, actually). In the lobby, the whole floor was carpetted with a red, almost Oriental design, and although the flowers displayed all around were fake, they were still very pretty, and added a nice overall look to the whole place.   
  
We checked in at the counter, and found that Adia and I had been assigned a different room from Charlie and Ben. That was okay with us, though, and we gladly took our keys and parted ways. We all waved bye, and I think it was the first time I saw Charlie actually smile and wave back. Hopefully we could teach him to speak next.  
  
"Is this cool or what?" I asked, swinging the key around a little. "I mean, this is a nice hotel, you gotta admit."  
  
"Yeah, it is.." Adia said, still obviously tired. "I just want to go to sleep."  
  
I shrugged, a little bit less tired than I was after the flight. "I dunno. I might walk around, check the place out... it might cheer me up." Adia looked at me questioningly, and I felt obligated to explain as we approached the elevators. "I've just been kind of frustrated lately... with work, and Mr. Schulze, and college and... you know. Usual stuff." She nodded, and pressed the 'up' button on the elevator.  
  
We continued to talk as we stepped on the elevator; and it was a pretty cool elevator. It was one of those glass ones you could see out of as you went up, and we had a nice view outside at the pool. We looked at each other as if to confirm we were gonna be all over that spa later. It went really super slow on the way up, so we didn't pay much attention when other people entered the elevator on the second floor. That is, until they started talking.  
  
"Man... I'm so tired, I could go to sleep right now in the elevator..." complained one of the passengers. It was a guy, with a kind of middle-voice, but it dipped down a little lower at the end of the sentence.  
  
My ears perked up. It couldn't be...  
  
"Fine, just don't drool!" Another guy, but a bit of a higher voice - kind of a bit of a laugh in his voice.  
  
I think maybe Adia thought it sounded familiar, too, because she turned around at the same time as me to view our company.  
  
The taller of the two shoved the other one. "I don't drool... who do you think I am? Big Show?"  
  
"Hey! I oughta tell Paul you said that!"   
  
I think I was too awe-stricken to stop staring. It was Edge and Christian. A living, breathing, Adam Copeland and Jason Reso, in the same elevator as me, talking like I wasn't even there. I guess they must have noticed Adia and I staring, because they were quick to address us.  
  
"See, now, Adam, I think you're scaring our elevator companions.." Jay joked.  
  
Adam looked, and grinned almost sheepishly. "Oh, right... sorry. We'll be quiet, we'll be quiet!" He made like he was going to fake choke Jay, who cowered back in fake fear.  
  
You'd never know they hated each other on TV, currently. And they were acting like two totally normal people (if not maybe really immature people). I had to say something. I mean, I knew who they were! I couldn't just stand there! This was what I wanted! So I did the most tactful thing I could do.  
  
"Oh my God, you're Edge and Christian!"  
  
Tactful. Right.  
  
They seemed a little surprised that I knew who they were, but they were really nice and I think they kind of ignored my school girl outburst. "Oh, hey, she knows who we are!"  
  
"Sure, I do! I mean--" I looked at Adia, and tugged her around by the elbow to face them fully with me, "--we both do! We love the WWF!"  
  
"Uh, yeah!" Adia caught on, and was all smiles, despite her tiredness. "In fact, we're here to do some work with Jim Ross!"  
  
"Yeah! We're, er, we're with an advertisement agency!" I couldn't believe I was referring to us as an agency. As we all know, I hated that. But I was giddy, God help me! "He requested for us--"  
  
"--specifically!" finished Adia, beaming.  
  
I didn't really notice until we stopped blathering like idiots that they looked really happy to see us. "You must be the new designers everyone is talking about!" Adam cried, proudly extending his hand (which I shook and held maybe a little longer than I should have, admittedly). "Everyone is so stoked about getting some new talent in our advertising department."  
  
Jay had just finished shaking Adia's hand, and then shook mine as he commented "You girls do look pretty young, though. J.R. really wanted you specifically, eh?"  
  
"Oh, yes, yes, of course!" came the united reply. I had realized we probably weren't the same people they were so jubiliantly referring to, unless they were really big fans of BBQ sauce.   
  
Our reverie was interrupted by the elevator bell ringing, alerting us our floor was up. I didn't want to go, but I also didn't want to make a bigger idiot of myself.  
  
"Oh, that's our floor!" we unitedly giggled, again. Man, did we look dumb.  
  
"What a coincidence, we get off here, too!" Jay said, smiling. "Do you want us to walk you to your rooms, or anything?"  
  
"Yeah, we always like talking with new staff," Adam added.  
  
"Uhhh..." Adia and I were on the same wavelength, today.  
  
"Oh, duh!" Adam smacked himself in the forehead, and extended his hand, again, as we exited the elevator. Whoohoo, two times touching Edge in one day! "I forgot to introduce myself... Jay kind of rubs off on people and makes them forget basic stuff like that." He flashed a smirk at Jay, who stuck out his tongue. "I'm--"  
  
"Adam Copeland!" we finished for him, as I shook his hand and once again held it a little too long. Just call us the Wonder Twins. I looked at Adia and grinned nervously, then looked back at Adam. "I'm Amy King."  
  
He shook Adia's hand, as well, and she laughed a little. "Adia Silva... so sorry, we've probably scared you a lot!"  
  
Jay introduced himself to both of us in turn, with the same result of him starting to say his name then us finishing it for him. As we walked to our room, the conversation continued, but it was mostly us nodding and agreeing with whatever Adam and Jay asked, as they continued to fake-bully each other back and forth.  
  
When we finally reached the rooms, they shook our hands again, smiling, as usual.  
  
"Hey... tomorrow morning, us and a few of the other guys are going to go hang out before the show..." Adam started. Uh oh. I knew where this was going. "Maybe you could come with!"  
  
"Yeah!" Jay nodded enthusiastically. "We can discuss the big, great, world of advertising!"  
  
Both of us laughed, weakly. We couldn't say no, but we couldn't tell them we were really just here to come up with a slogan for J.R.'s BBQ Sauce. We wanted them to like us, and think we had really important jobs... wouldn't anyone?  
  
"I..." I was still brewing excuses.  
  
"Sure!" Adia suddenly cried out. I gave her a look like she had grown a third arm. "We'd love to... but right now, we're really tired, because we travelled alongtimesonowweneedtogobye!" And with that she dragged me off into the hotel and shut the door.  
  
"Amy, we need a plan..." she said, her back against the door, and myself still wondering if something was wrong with her, if not a third arm, then a mental condition. "I'm not going to talk barbeque with two of the hottest and most famous guys in the World Wrestling Federation!"  
  
So it was at that point we formulated the dumbest plan of all time...  
  
  
  
  
Author's Note: See? See? Edge and Christian! Although delayed and too short... next chapter will be cool because we are switching viewpoints from Amy (that's me) to Edge (that's Adam!) I'm going to do a few different viewpoints throughout, but he'll be our first wrestler, and hey! That means no Amy to put up with! I know you're probably dying to kill her, eh heh... heh.. but please don't...! Not yet, anyway, she has more to do!  



End file.
